Golden Bronze
The next day at school the lectures became more intense. The teachers began assigning extensive homework. They all pretty much said the same things—that advanced placement students need to prepare for the competitive nature of college. If we think high school is difficult, just wait until the universities get a hold of us. “Sink or swim,” more than one of them said.
My obsessions over Laurent’s peculiarities were growing. I just couldn’t figure him out and my curiosities were getting to me. Yesterday Laurent wasn’t at swim practice and again today he wasn’t in English class.
But, as before, the other French students were there. When I walked into the classroom, I thought I saw Pascal Beaudoin, with his long black hair that was tied over his shoulder, give me a dirty look and then turn back to Marine where he continued in conversation.
I was confused and felt uncomfortable. I considered the possibility that maybe the look I thought I saw may not have been directed at me. If his expression was nasty as I feared, maybe he was thinking about something negative and just happened to look at me at that moment, that the expression on his perfect face wasn’t for me.
But, then, a little later as I watched the French students from the corner of my eye while the teacher lectured, I noticed Marcel Paradis in particular. While he was leaning back comfortably in his chair, he ran his fingers through his long dark brown hair. I stiffened, sensing that he was looking at me. I turned to him. At once our eyes locked. I sensed anger in his stare. I wasn’t sure, but his expression felt threatening. Goosebumps lifted on my arms. It seemed like he held his gaze a little too long. My face went pale.
I didn’t know what to do. I feared these two friends of Laurent. What could I have possibly done to them? The day before the whole group kept glancing at me. Their expressions were neutral, but today, the male très beaux seemed to be intentionally trying to intimidate me. I was scared.
For the rest of the class, I didn’t even look at them. I kept my eyes on the teacher or on the notebook on my desk. When the bell rang, I rushed to my Trig class to avoid any confrontations in the halls.
At lunch, I kept a distance and when Agatha went to the lunch line to talk to Danny, I didn’t follow. Instead I walked to the other side of the cafeteria and leaned against the wall as I quickly ate my food. I was relieved when Ashton came over to me and invited me to his table.
I could hardly listen to his friendly conversations because my heart was racing so fast for fear of the French students. But, I was glad to be with him because I figured the très beaux wouldn’t bother me if I was in his presence.
He tried to engage me in conversations with his popular friends and I did my best to be polite and seem at least moderately interested. I was relieved when Agatha joined us, but my mind wasn’t present even then.
I just couldn’t figure out what had happened to Laurent. Two days he had been absent and he never tried to call me again. I had to know what had happened to him. Why wouldn’t the très beaux tell Danny why he wasn’t in school when he asked? If he was sick, wouldn’t they just say it? And now that Pascal and Marcel may have been giving me negative looks, I could only wonder if it had anything to do with my interactions or lack of interactions with Laurent.
No, it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t imagine that I could be that important at least not to these beautiful creatures that had most of the kids in school spellbound with their alluring manners and dreamlike qualities. It was egotistical to think I had any impact on their lives. But, I did—otherwise why did Marine Thibault attack me on Santa Monica Beach?
I just couldn’t stop thinking about it all. My inquisitiveness was maddening. I had to figure out what was going on. So, later that day, I found Danny by his locker and asked him to find out where Laurent lived.
“Why Grace?” His eyes widened. I guess he thought it was a strange request.
“Please don’t say anything about it to the exchange students, but I want to give something to Laurent and I don’t want them to know about it.” I looked around to see if anyone in the halls was listening. There were just some freshmen girls giggling amongst themselves as they walked by.
Danny glided his hand over his gelled blonde hair and looked at me uncomfortably. “Truthfully, I don’t think they’ll tell me. They’re very private.”
“Oh, no, no, no…” I said as I leaned in closer to him. He smelled a little like hamburgers. “I don’t want you to ask them. I want you to try to get his address from your dad.”
“My dad?” His eyes widened and he looked confused.
“Yes, he works at the post office, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Doesn’t he have access to everyone’s addresses?”
He chuckled under his breath. “I guess he does, but I don’t think that’s legal.”
“Okay,” I said in disappointment. “It’s just kind of important and it’s all harmless—right?” I shifted my weight to try to seem like I was losing interest in the conversation. I hoped the threat of my leaving would draw him in.
“I just can’t do that, Grace.”
“No problem—Laurent’s loss.” I laughed nonchalantly.
“What do you have to give to Laurent?”
“He mistakenly dropped something of his by me when we were paired up for swim team and before I could give it to him, he rushed off. And now he hasn’t been at school since.”
Danny smiled now and then nodded. “I could give it to his friends and they could give it to him.”
“I wish it was that easy, but I’m sure he would be embarrassed for them to see it.”
“Oh.” He paused in contemplation. “If it’s something embarrassing, wouldn’t he be even more uncomfortable if you gave it to him—I mean considering that he barely knows you?”
“Yes, of course. That’s why I want his address. Then I can mail it to him anonymously. That way he won’t feel humiliated.”
Danny laughed out loud. “That’s so funny. I sure wish I knew what it is.” He kept chortling.
I laughed too.
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to my father. He might be okay with that.” He was shaking his head and smiling. I could tell he was trying to figure out what Laurent could possibly have dropped that was so embarrassing.
In truth, I didn’t have anything of Laurent’s, but I wanted to see where he lived. I thought maybe I could get some answers if I did a little harmless detective work. I hoped Danny would help me.
For the rest of the week Laurent still wasn’t in school. But his friends surely were. Their presence was prominent. I felt I couldn’t avoid them. They invaded my space, my thoughts, and my sanity.
When I was walking down the hall one day, Brigitte bumped into me hard. I slammed against the lockers.
“Excusez-moi,” she said carelessly. Her body language seemed to convey that she hardly noticed what she had done. But, it wasn’t clear. I got the feeling she may have bumped into me on purpose.
And the next day I tripped over Marine’s foot as I walked into the cafeteria. She turned away like she didn’t notice that I stumbled before her. Her intensions also were ambiguous like Brigitte’s.
And once I walked passed their lunch table and thought I heard Pascal say to his friends in a quiet voice, “Grace will surely die.”
I must not have heard him right. Lately, my mind was running wild. My imagination must have been unleashed. But, after he said that, Marine saw me and her face seemed to go pale.
The school week passed and Danny never came through with Laurent’s address. He told me he spoke to his father and he said he wasn’t allowed to give out unlisted information. I told Danny to keep at it and eventually his dad would give in.
Danny just laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re funny, Grace.” That’s all he said. But, then, he saw the disappointed expression on my face and he agreed to keep trying. He told me that he’d make another attempt on a day when his dad was in a more agreeable mood.
The teacher was shocked when she saw the fire. She grabbed a big bag of flour from the cabinet and poured it on the blaze. To my surprise, the flames extinguished, but the classroom filled with smoke and we all had to sit outside on the grass for the rest of the period.
On the brighter side, my parents were happy with me all week because I did so much house cleaning. Jokingly they said they wished I was always on restriction. I didn’t think that was funny.
And Lucy was happy with me too. Even though I wasn’t allowed to go out with my friends this weekend as part of my punishment, my parents let me take Lucy to the amusement park because they considered that babysitting was in the category of chores. We both had a great experience spending time together. It was fun watching her eyes light up on the Ferris wheel. Mostly, I enjoyed hearing all about her school week and her classroom friends.
But, during all my experiences, I couldn’t get my thoughts off of Laurent. My mind continued to wrestle with ideas like how he teleported across the classroom and how he found my small sapphire ring in a vast ocean. I was as determined as ever to figure him out.
On Monday when I returned to school, I was disappointed to see that Laurent was still absent. I started to worry that maybe he returned to France and was never coming back. The idea of never seeing him again disturbed me much more than it should have. For the rest of the day I fell into a melancholy mood. I just went through the motions of the day, but my mind drifted to dark places.
I was feeling so down that I almost decided to skip swim practice. But, when I thought about the possibility of being kicked off the team and not getting into Berkley, I thought better of it.
I took my time changing into my bathing suit, just staring at the rows of gym lockers as I fastened my straps. Because of my mood, I lagged behind the others. When I got out onto the deck, I sat down on a bench along the gate and started trying to stuff my hair into my swim cap. Most of the girls and boys were already doing laps, but several stragglers were also on the benches and others were still filing in through the gate.
And then I saw him. It was Laurent.
My heart began to race at the sight of him. I bit down on my balled hand trying to calm myself.
He was back. There he was leaning against the gate combing his hair roughly into a ponytail which he tucked into his swim cap. His body was gorgeous, a golden bronze.
I wondered if he noticed me. Probably not. But even if he had, he probably wouldn’t say anything. Goosebumps raised on my arms as I walked over to the barrel to take some fins. To my surprise, I caught him watching me. But, when I looked at him, he quickly turned away. He seemed furious suddenly, almost violent.
I wondered if his feelings had to do with me. It wasn’t possible. There was no way I could have had that sort of effect on anyone, let alone a boy like Laurent Moreau. Even his name was beautiful.
Another guy was horsing around and bumped into Laurent. To my disbelief, he grabbed the boy by the arm and swung him around heatedly, yelling at him in French. My body tensed. Then he released the boy and dove into the pool. Immediately, he started doing laps. I was shocked by his energy; he was unusually fast and strong in the water.
I didn’t know what to make of his mood. My heart didn’t stop racing. I wondered what he could have been so angry about. But, he didn’t say a thing to me the rest of practice.
The next day at school in English class, I was relieved to see that Laurent was there. The insides of my stomach started fluttering when I saw him, but that only made me angry. He didn’t even look in my direction. I noticed he was sitting between the other très beaux instead of in the outer desk as before. By their hovering presences, I got the feeling they were guarding him.
“Laurent, please pass out the pop quizzes on Romeo and Juliet,” Mrs. Wallace said. Earlier she explained that she wanted to see how much we remembered of the story from ninth grade. It was her favorite and she wanted to read it aloud in class.
I couldn’t help but watch Laurent as he gracefully walked from desk to desk passing out one paper at a time. His long hair was so silky and smooth. I had a strong desire to touch it. As he got closer to me, I noticed his teeth clench. My pulse started to race. When he handed the quiz to me, his eyes narrowed fiercely and his nostrils flared. I got flustered and dropped my pencil.
My eyes averted from his to the falling object. To my utter shock, it seemed that as the pencil fell it stopped short of the floor and levitated midair, a couple of inches above Laurent’s foot. I blinked my eyes wondering if I had seen correctly. Nobody would have noticed this oddity, but I happened to be staring with keen attention as it fell.
In an instant, I thought I saw Laurent retrieve the pencil from the air. It couldn’t be possible. My eyelids held wide open as I stared at his crouched body before me and his fingers that held the object. His focus was on the pencil which he carefully put in his mouth. If I wasn’t shocked enough—it appeared as if he was enjoying the taste immensely. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly like he was experiencing great pleasure.
“You taste so good,” he whispered with his eyes closed, almost as if he had no awareness of what he was saying.
Suddenly, he came to his senses. His eyelids popped open. A self-contained rage overtook him. He set the pencil down on my desk with fury in his burning blue eyes. And then with a snarl he commanded, “Don’t drop your stuff.” With that, he set the stack of papers on my desk. “You pass out the rest.” His melodic voice was dark as he rushed gracefully back to his desk between his cluster of friends.
It looked like he was breathing heavily as he sat in the chair before his desk. His chest rose and fell achingly like a dying fish out of water.
Rhythmic Gate
The next day at school, the très beaux arrived at English class late. They sort of glided into the classroom like a dream. As I watched them move toward their desks, I must have gotten caught up in their energies because I felt almost euphoric, like I was floating peacefully in midair. The feeling was inexplicable. I felt mesmerized.
I looked at Mrs. Wallace and her eyes appeared glazed as she spoke of Romeo and Juliet’s never ending love for each other. I got the feeling that she didn’t even notice the exchange students’ late arrival. She looked so impassioned with the play, with life. It was as if she was in her own magnificent world.
The other students appeared dreamy eyed too. They also seemed to be oblivious to the très beaux’s entrances. It was my impression that I was the only one who noticed their arrival. I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening though because I felt so good. I just wanted to bask in the pleasure of the moment. Nothing mattered much.
But, then I came back to reality. The blissful recall drifted away like a mist. Now, somehow, I felt disappointed.
I surveyed the classroom. The other students looked normal now. Everyone, including the teacher looked slightly disgruntled like they had been woken up too abruptly from sleep. Mrs. Wallace continued lecturing on the Shakespearean play, but now her enthusiasm had waned.
I looked over at Laurent. He had switched desks again. I sensed that he was purposely sitting as far away from me as possible. He took the desk on the other side of the très beaux. I wasn’t sure if he changed seats because of me or for some other reason. But, I couldn’t help but feel that it may have been because he wanted to get away from me.
As I watched him from the corner of my eye, I sensed that he was brimming in a self-contained rage. I couldn’t figure him out. And as much as I tried to control myself, I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him.
His mannerisms as he took out his things and arran
ged them assiduously on the desk seemed subtle, sort of flowing in rhythm like a gentle ocean dance, but beneath the surface, I intuited an inner turmoil that could be likened to shark frenzy. The illusive contradiction made my mind spin with wonder.
In all logic, I should have been frightened by him, but I wasn’t. His underlying anger hinted at something fierce, but my heart drew me to him regardless. More than scared, I was confused.
The other French students seemed more focused on Laurent than on me that day which was a relief. I got the impression that they were acting more like body guards than friends. I had to wonder who they were protecting him from.
Oddly, the teacher acted more lenient with the exchange students than with the rest of the class. She didn’t appear to mind that they were late or that they traded desks amongst themselves. I got the vague feeling that she didn’t even notice, which was unlike her. English teachers are usually attuned to detail. Maybe she was purposely ignoring them. But had it been anyone else in the classroom, I bet she would have objected.
For the next few days it seemed as if Laurent was either ignoring my presence or he didn’t know I was alive. He continued to sit between or on the opposite side of his friends in English class. I noticed that his body was most often angled away from me. Either his chair was turned or he leaned on his desk with his hand on his face blocking his view from my side of the room.
At our swim team practices, he started swimming on the farthest side of the pool away from the girls. I never caught him looking at me as I had before. And his anger never appeared to lessen. He acted normal enough, but his underlying rage seemed ever present. From his fast, strong strokes in the water, I imagined that he was taking out his fury through his impressive physical exertion. I kept wondering and wondering what he was so angry about.
Bluehour (A Watermagic Novel) Page 6